


Bellum

by Stella_STARgazer



Series: Prudentia [1]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Blackmail, Humiliation, Revenge, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stella_STARgazer/pseuds/Stella_STARgazer
Summary: Joan wages her final battle against Channing.





	Bellum

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this fic at the start of season 6, when it appeared that Channing was essentially getting away scot-free from all his crimes. I had a desire to serve him his comeuppance. It's set in the evening after the riot in 3x1.
> 
> ***WARNING***: I feel compelled to put a warning at the beginning of this fic to state that some may find it controversial or possibly offensive. When the initial idea came to me, I happened to see the trailer for "The Girl in the Spider's Web" movie and thus was heavily inspired by some of the actions of Lisbeth Salander in that series for this fic. I tried to keep the graphic content to a minimum, but if you are familiar with those stories (namely The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo), you will know that this scenario may be quite uncomfortable for some. So, bear that in mind before venturing further. 
> 
> Also, this fic is part of a 2-piece collection. This is part one and part two is entitled "Pax", which can be read standalone and does not carry the same warnings as this fic.

“An angry woman is vindictive beyond measure,

and hesitates at nothing in her bitterness.”

-Jean Antoine Petit-Senn

 

“All warfare is based on deception.”

_ The Art of War _ \- Sun Tzu

* * *

 

Perched atop the deep burgundy armchair in the corner of the room, Joan dons her war suit. It’s far from her typical, preferred war time attire, but this battle calls for a deviation from the norm. A true warrior is always prepared to fight in all types of conditions, so one’s uniform must always be mutable to suit the occasion. Of course, black leather always remains, in some fashion. 

This evening it’s in the form of gloves that wrap luxuriously around her ivory arms, fully encasing them to the elbow; in spike-heeled pumps that make her tower over her enemy that much higher. The black polyester of her governor’s uniform is traded for rich black satin that laces up her lean back and kisses each rib with rigid pressure. The boning of her corset holds well in the place of armour. Thigh high stockings and high cut satin briefs offer little protection, but she’s strategized so well, she knows no harm will really come her way. Her nostril flares at the thought of exposing so much flesh to this sworn enemy, but to stay in power, she knows this sacrifice must be made.

Her thick celestial mane is concealed under an auburn lob with fringe that grazes her razor sharp brows. Stern features are hidden behind an intricate black lace mask. A swath of deep crimson stains her full bow lips. There’s a reason why hidden ambush is an oft used war tactic. This scene was not of her construction, but she can make any opportunity benefit her purpose. It’s a battle she’d much prefer to send a foot soldier to fight, but to ensure this will be their last and the war will be well and truly over, she herself has come to settle the score.

Ever the master of her domain, she has ears all over her prison and thus has one dictaphone, discreetly hidden in the toilets by the staff break room, to thank for providing this opportunity. It took just one phone call and a drop of a few thousand dollars in cash at the front desk downstairs to set her plan into motion. Now, the lioness lies in wait for her prey.

A single knock sounds outside the door before there’s a click and the knob slowly turns. The short, lecherous man enters the room then stops as he eyes her seated in the chair.

“Where’s Lola? Who are you?” He questions, suspicion deepening the bags under his eyes.

“Lola’s sick, so Marie sent me.” The thick Russian accent rolls easily off her tongue, thanks to a childhood spent in her father’s homeland.

He watches her for a moment, as if deciding whether to trust her and proceed, his beady eyes moving quickly from her face to sweep across her body as she sits, legs crossed in the chair.

“You’re older.” He observes as he finally tosses his keys on the desk and closes the door.

“Is that a problem?” She quips, frosty as a Russian winter, rising from the chair to tower above him. His libidinous gaze roams lazily down her Junoesque frame and she feels the rebellious twitch as it starts to pull at her left nostril.

He smirks and reaches for his tie, “Not when you look like that.”

It takes all her effort to control the snarl that itches to curl back her top lip and expose her gleaming teeth. Reaching down, she collects the black leather satchel that rests at her feet.

“Marie informed me of your preferences, but your clock is ticking so I suggest you get undressed and stop talking.”

With an amused chuckle, he takes a step back and begins to do as he is told. “Yes, ma’am,” he concedes with a sly smile.

Once undressed, he crawls onto the bed. Her eyes stay trained on the back of his head as he lowers himself on all fours, the thought of searing any other part of him into her memory makes her want to wretch. She approaches the bed, placing the satchel on the corner before opening it to remove a pair of handcuffs. She cuffs his wrists in silence, with a touch of roughness that he seems to enjoy, by the looks of the salacious smirk on his greasy face. It disgusts her, but soon that smarmy look will be replaced with something far more pleasurable in her view.

She binds his ankles together next, with the black rope from the bag that Marie’s contact provided her and retrieves the long handled riding crop from it’s inky depths. With a resounding smack, she cracks it across the palm of her hand. He twitches in anticipation. Of course he’d have a thing for spanking, it’s such a predictable cliche. Still, inflicting pain on this despicable man does have its merits. The first smack lands with a brutal crack across his ass, leaving an angry streak of red across the pale skin. She smirks at the pained grunt he makes.

“That’s quite an arm you’ve got there...what did you say your name was?” He wheezes into the space before him, muscles tensing as he anticipates the next electrifying blow. 

“Nadia.” she hisses before drawing back and landing the next strike, harder this time, against her intended target, all the while her eyes never leave the back of his shining head. A sigh escapes between his tightly clenched teeth.

The whipping continues until she grows tired of the game, when she knows the time is right to maximize his downfall. Finally desiring to bring this battle to it’s crippling conclusion, she prepares to administer the coup de grace. Stopping her relentless assault, the crop switches direction as she brings the phallic handle to his quivering backside. A generous application of lube follows and he tenses when he realizes her next course of action. Panic raises his voice an octave higher.

“No! That’s not part of the arrangement.” He tries to sound intimidating, but it comes out as a near squeal as the handle finds its home. He bears down, not realizing he makes the passage easier.

“Relax,” she croons, “your type always enjoys this part” she goads, a dangerous edge to her husky timbre.

He opens his mouth to protest, but finds he’s rendered speechless by the shockingly pleasurable sensation. In a matter of seconds, after just a handful of thrusts, he reaches satisfaction with a disgusting grunt and violent tremor. Looking up to the mirror that hangs above the bed, his eyes grow saucer sized with utter mortification. With a wicked chuckle, she withdraws her weapon, tossing it to the bed beside him.

“How unfortunaTe, though not surprising.” She mewls in the icy Russian accent. “That your sexual performance should be just as pathetic as your professional one,” Suddenly she drops the charade, as she delivers her final blow, “Derek.” She crows, in her normal, stern cadance.

His eyes grow wider still as he stares in abject horror at her reflection in the mirror. Reaching up, she peels away the mask and auburn wig, discarding them into the leather bag. The smile that curves her blood red lips is simply demonic. He scoots across to the head of the bed, quickly scrambling to his knees and grasping a pillow to cover his exposed flesh.

“You fucking bitch!” He bellows, face grown crimson as spittle flies from his trembling mouth.

Calm as a cucumber, she glides across the room to the desk against the far wall.

“You see, Derek, I tried to warn you about trying to cross me, but you simply didn’t listen. Now, I know I have this little brothel business of yours to keep you under thumb, but I realized that if you ever did find someone actually intelligent enough to help you, you might be able to weasel your way out of that little situation. So, I’ve taken it upon myself to secure this second piece of insurance.” She turns around to face him, holding up the small camera that captured the entire exchange.

“If you should ever try to overrule me again like you did today, especially in  _ my  _ prison, this little video will make it to the board as well as members of your family. Now, my identity is protected, but you...well, I’m afraid you’re a little bit...exposed, so I’d think very wisely about crossing me again.” He swallows hard as he watches her glide across the room, pulling on her long overcoat before fastening the belt and making an exaggerated show of dropping the camera into the deep pocket.

“Do we have ourselves an agreement?” She lifts a sculpted brow in anticipation.

His lip twitches with rage, but he knows this war is well and truly over. She’s won and his only choice is to surrender. With a final glance her direction he nods. “Yes,” he growls in disgust.

“Good. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.” From her pocket she retrieves the handcuff key and tosses it on the bed near his feet before collecting the leather satchel.

“I’m sure you can see yourself out.” Her mocking tone drips with condescension.

With a final victorious smirk, she vanishes out the door, leaving him behind to wallow in indubitable defeat.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a collection. Part two is titled "Pax" and the content is not controversial.


End file.
